The Stranger
by August8th
Summary: An attempt to push the boundaries of grotesque literature
1. An Ongoing Journey

And suddenly it was all over, the screams had ceased and the old hallway was quiet again. No one dared to open their doors to discover what had caused the screaming, nor to see what had stopped it.

A figure struts down the hallway, each light burning out overhead as the stranger passes by. Finally the sound of a door opening and closing and then nothing.

The stranger roams the city, looking for fresh blood. Always looking, always wanting the sensation of a kill. It does him no good to think about the crimes he had committed in the past, only what he is going to commit in the future.

Every time he stops a heart, his desires are fulfilled for only a brief moment, and then the hunger comes back. He needs the pain, he needs the sickening sounds and the gruesome scenes to keep him going, without it he feels like he begins to decay from the inside. A sickness that overwhelms him is too much to control, like a junkie looking for a fix, he wanders the streets with wide eyes and a steady pace, waiting, watching, analyzing the life seen around him.

He does not know who will be next, nor does he care for a name, marital status or job position, as long as there is a heart beating, his hunt will continue. Maybe it was his upbringing, abusive parents that disregarded him until they needed something to hit, or maybe it was just something he saw, somewhere along the gnarled and misshapen road that is his life. The factors are unknown even to him, all he knows is he wants to continue taking lives of others. Innocent, guilty and anything in between, it does not matter, and probably never will. 

It's three o'clock in the morning. The stranger does not stop to rest until he has found one more victim for the night. He wanders down an almost pitch black alleyway, a cat jumps from behind a dumpster and scampers away. Animals never satisfied his hunger.

He killed a bear with a bowie knife once, but he was hungry immediately after. It was something about humans, maybe the smell of fresh blood, sweat and tears that drove him. Animals don't fear for their lives, they simply accept the circumstances. They don't cry and beg for mercy or apologize and repent before their death. They fight, no compassion, no other objective besides kill or be killed.

A man was sleeping in the alleyway, snoring loudly. A bottle of bourbon, almost empty was on it side and rolling around the man by force of the wind. The man cried out in his sleep, shouting "NO! You bastards! NO!" Followed by more mumbling and then resumed snoring.

Although it was too easy for him to kill this man in his sleep, the hunger overtook him as he stood over the body. His fingers extended and he bent down, grabbing the man by his neck. He woke up yelped, grabbed his arms and tried to get free. It was a grip of death, the man knew he was going to die and realized there was nothing he could do about it.

Slowly he let his arms drop to the ground and the proceeded to stare into his killer's eyes. His breathing slowed from an excited gasp for air to a calm rasp as he felt fingers dig into the back of his neck, his jugular being crushed by the incredible force of murderous hands. Slowly the rasp faded, and the man was dead. The stranger lay down next to the man and slept for several hours, feeling relieved, fulfilled and warm inside.

He awoke three hours later, the alley still quiet, the sun starting to peek out over the horizon. Sitting up and stretching, he prepared himself for another day. He wondered how long he could go without having to take a life. But the moment he thought about murder, the hunger came back. Like a fire in the pit of his stomach, creeping up his neck and into the back of his eyes. He needed more.

It was much harder to kill someone in daylight, so many people watching. He couldn't get caught. If he got sent to prison he would be so limited. Only two people to a cell, he could only take a life every once in a while. It wouldn't be enough.

He wandered through the streets for the day; food and shelter were his second priorities. He was hunting again, this time he needed a challenge. Up and down the streets for hours, looking for the perfect person. He spotted a cop breaking up a small fight that had occurred in front of a café. The cop stood over the two bodies and tore the man on top off. He flung him a good five or six feet and watched him land on his face. Bleeding from the nose and mouth the man stood up and tried to run away. Putting his boot on the neck of the man still on the ground, the cop adopted a firm stance, drew his sidearm and shot once.

The running man had gotten maybe thirty feet when he dropped. He didn't make a sound, besides that of his face smashing off the pavement again. He didn't move, neither did the cop for a moment. He may not have meant to kill him. Handcuffing the man on the ground he lifted him up and took him to the squad car parked about fifty feet away. The running man still lay there, a pool of blood quickly forming from where the bullet had pierced the back of this head and exited out of his right eye.

The stranger had found his next target. Someone like him. Someone not afraid to take the life of another. This would be a challenge, but this would give him his fix for a sufficient amount of time. The cop had to wait around for an ambulance, when it arrived the corpse was wrapped up and thrown into the back of the vehicle. The cop got into his car and sped away. The stranger remembered his face. There was no escaping for this boy in blue. He was the next target, and nothing could change that.

Slowly the stranger made his way to the police station and found the cop's car parked out front of the building. He had remembered the number on the back of the car. Making sure no one was looking, he slid under the car and found a place to hold onto, elevating himself only inches off the ground. He waited for several hours, but to him it was fully worth it. He could already feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, he did not rest and remained elevated for three hours before the cop get into his car and drove for about half an hour.

He arrived at a house, parked at the curb in front and turned off the car. He remained in the car for a few minutes; inaudible mumbles could be heard faintly through the chassis. The door opened, the stranger saw the polished boots hit the pavement and walk towards the house, as he approached the door he rang the doorbell and waited. While he was waiting the stranger crawled out from underneath the car and began running at his target. The door opened, a man in a wife-beater carrying a Budweiser briefly glanced at the cop, then at the stranger barreling towards him.

His openmouthed reaction got the cop on guard. Before he even attempted to turn around he lowered his arm and drew his pistol. As the cop spun around he had enough time to get off a single shot; the bullet penetrated the left shoulder but did nothing to stop his objective. With his left hand he tore the pistol out of the cop's hands and grabbed him by the throat.

The Budweiser could be heard smashing onto the cement stair, the guy had turned and ran into the house, undoubtedly to grab a firearm, possibly to call for more police. The cop swung with his left and landed it on the side of the strangers face. At this point in time physical pain was impossible to acknowledge, he smiled slightly and squeezed until he could feel his fingers touch each other through his throat. Arms flailing uselessly as less and less oxygen was received by the brain, he was soon cut off from everything, his body went limp, but he did not drop onto the ground, he remained on his toes through the stranger, just holding him by the throat, studying exactly how his victim was dying. The stared at each other, the cops eyes wild with the realization of impending loss of life, the strangers were calm, filled with joy and a slightly watery, this was his Nirvana.

And just like that, at the apex of his daily virtue, it was over. The stare was maintained no longer, the cop's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was dead. He was dropped to the ground, the goal had been achieved.

He had almost forgot about the owner of the house. His voice could be heard emanating through the back of the house, "You wanna kill a cop on my property mother fucker! I'll show you!" The faint sounds of a shotgun being loaded had made it convincing enough that he could do something, but it didn't matter. The stranger stood in the doorway, grabbed the body of the cop, picking him up by the indentations in his throat and held him towards the hallway leading to the door. "Take shit fucker!" The guy screams as he pops around the corner and unloads two cartridges into the carcass.

The second blast penetrated the body completely and the stranger took a few shards into his left shoulder, but was still not at liberty to feel any pain. It took a few seconds for the man to realize that he just mutilated an officer's body and then attempted to reload. By the time he had cocked the shotgun the stranger had already grabbed the barrel with his right hand and wrapped his left hand around the back of the guy's head, pushing his face into the barrel of the shotgun.

The guy struggled but before he could remove his finger from the trigger guard the stranger kneed the weapon and set off a shot. It sprayed all over the hallway leading into the house. You could hear other people inside, screaming for their lives and calling out, presumably the recently deceased's name. The man without a face stiffened up before he had hit the ground, and made a thud of something with no give whatsoever.

It was time to go, that was just a slight kicker compared to his prize. He has overestimated the situation, he had thought he was in for a hell of a fight, but to him, a fight should go on for an hour before either side lets themselves die. It was only enough for a day, he spent the entire day digging the metal out of his shoulder and mending his wounds.


	2. A New Niche

Food had become necessary for survival, he knew there were certain things he could consume that would help him heal in a matter of days, he knew that there were many different aspects of taking the energy out of humans, he needed to kill to live, it was the most basic of mentalities but it was all the stranger knew.

He found an easy kill that night, a kid, maybe in his early twenties, full of life, skating in a park after dark. He took no joy in this kill; there was nothing to it except for the aspect of survival. The kid saw him approaching, a silhouette walking objectively towards him; he stopped skating and waited for the approach, headphones still on his ears. "What do you want?" He yelled, the stranger didn't answer. He grabbed the kid by the mouth, covering it with one palm and dragged him into an alleyway where he propped the kid up against the wall, leaned in and apologized for what he was about to do, but it had to be done and broke his neck.

He ate what he could raw, but it started to overturn his stomach after a while. He started a small fire in the alley and cooked small parts at a time, hiding the body in a nearby dumpster. Homeless people wandering around would stumble into the alley and scream out in drunken pleasure 'mmmm...Smells great! Can I get some of that?" and other attempts, but at they approached, every single one got a glimpse of the stranger, and changed their minds on trying to get any food.

He ate until he could not possibly eat any more, both legs and arms had been devoured, the heart and a part of the brain that is said to increase strength.  
He had learned this by no means of his own, he had just known certain things for as long as he could ever remember anything in his life. After his meal he decided to rest. Using the remains of the boy's body he slept in the dumpster. It was a surprisingly deep sleep; he slept through most of the day.

When he awoke it was dusk, people were starting their night, looking forward to drinking, partying and socializing. The few that were to come into contact with the stranger did not know at that point that they would never see their homes again; no one could even suspect that this night on the town would be their final destination.

A young couple that had started drinking earlier on in the day had stumbled into the alleyway as the stranger was waking up. They were looking for a secluded spot for a quickie before their night started. They kissed passionately against a wall a few feet from the dumpster. The man pulled down his girlfriends pants and turned her around. The quiet moans as they fucked emanated through the grungy alleyway, their occasional laughter echoed off the old walls, and the stranger, without having to see anything, knew he had his next target.

The apparent situation of having two vulnerable unsuspecting people in a relatively secluded place mustered and uncontrollable urge in the stranger. He crept out of the dumpster and proceeded toward the couple, who were solely concentrated on each other.

"You ready for this you little bitch? You want it in you don't you?" The man said as he grabbed his girlfriend by her hips and began to thrust harder. "I'm gonna cum all over you you little slut." He almost yelled. "You ready for it? Here it comes!" He said as he began to climax. Just as he did the stranger grabbed the man by the throat and collapsed his jugular.

The man began twitching, which did not disappoint the girl. "Oh Charlie, Fuck me harder! You've never felt like this before!" She cried, eyes closed facing the wall, her clenched fists and continuous moan kept her distracted as her boyfriend took his final breath. The stranger pulled the corpse away from the girl and held him up by the throat. "That was amazing Charlie, I've never felt you shake like that. You're mine forev…" She stopped short as she looked back at her lover levitating inches from the ground. She followed the hand holding the back of his neck, and came into contact with gun metal grey eyes that were staring so intently right back into hers.

Before she could scream the stranger had his hand on her face and squeezed. His ring finger had so much pressure it perforated her left eye causing blood and innards to run down the side of her face. She scratched and clawed, ripping pieces of flesh from the stranger's arm, but his grip held, he managed to cover her nose and mouth and pressed her against the wall. Her good eye wild with terror, looking down both sides of the alleyway with false hope that a passerby would stop and miraculously save her from imminent death.

A few minutes pass and he is still pressing her against the wall, she is now covered in blood from she wounds she had inflicted on the omni-powerful arm of the stranger, she still holds onto his arms but has ceased her attack. Her muffled cry sputtered from behind the stranger's hand, mucus, tears and saliva dripped down her face and onto his hand. If there was anything the stranger felt remorseful for it was victims that cried and gave up. This wasn't intended to invoke so many emotions, this was nothing personal, this was just the way it was, the way it always had been and the way it will be forever.

She eventually passed out; he released his grip and watched her hit the ground. He bent over, opened the girl's mouth, reached down her throat and crushed her heart. There were several convulsions and then she was dead, blood streaming from her mouth, nose and eyes. A double kill was enough for a good few hours. The satisfaction of actually getting to feel a beating heart and crushing it between his fingers was the biggest boost the stranger had ever felt. Cutting life off at the source had become his new kick.

By midnight the cravings had come back, but more than ever, the girl's blood was still under his fingernails, he could still smell her fear. He licked his fingers and tasted the blood; it became immediately apparent he needed another kill. In fact, he needed many more kills that night. It wasn't going to be enough just choking someone to death anymore, he needed to feel them die, feel their source of life dissipate while in his hands. He had grown tired of strangling, it was now an insufficient way to fulfill cravings, too often had his hands felt the last breath pass through the larynx, the sound of gasping no longer pleasured the death fetish he possessed.

His next kill had to be horrid, gruesome, he felt the craving to bathe in blood and if anything less than that happened there would be no sense of fulfillment whatsoever. He searched the remainder of the night; the craving had crept up and overwhelmed him. A few times he was even tempted to tear the lungs out of people that were submersed in a sea of people walking down the crowded sidewalks, but he refrained, he knew that it would be almost impossible is evade law enforcement if there was a definite description of him.

So he remained in the shadows, resting in darkened alleyways and abandoned playgrounds, he waited until and isolated person fell into his bearings. He needed isolation for this kill.


	3. Alternate Methods

A few hours had passed and the craving had become impossible to postpone any longer. There were still too many people in the streets. He found a public restroom; there were two stalls adjacent to three urinals. The stranger waited in that stall. He only had to wait a few minutes before the sound of footsteps approached, the door creaked open and the sound of a belt buckle coming undone.

The stranger was waiting for a stroke of magnificent luck, which he received. The man used the urinal closest to the adjoined stall. His feet were visible, the stranger bent down and reached for his ankles. The man heard the stranger move towards him. "What the fuck? Who's in there?" Silence. He had not completely relieved himself and concentrated on finishing the task in hand.

He stared down at his feet and leaned over slightly to see something through the gap. Just as the man had convinced himself that he was drunk and just hearing things the stranger grabbed his left ankle, twisted and pulled the man's leg underneath the stall, grinding the skin off of his shin. He smashed the man's leg upwards and into the wall, reversing the natural bend at the knee.

The man screamed in pain as the stranger pulled the rest of his body under the stall. As the man lay on his back he stared up through wincing eyes and say the stranger; gun metal grey eyes piercing through his target, wild with the anticipation of blood soon to be spilled.

"Please don't hurt me; I'll give you anything you want! Just stop! Please!" The man yelled. The stranger smiled slightly and pushed the man's head out from under the stall. He grabbed his arms and pulled up. The man's throat was crushed into the wall and he began to struggle. The stranger pulled harder on the arms; pops and cracks could be heard coming from his shoulder blades, elbows and neck. A moment later the sound of tearing flesh as his arms had begun to separate from the torso.

The man attempted to scream but it came out only as a gurgle, his trachea was completely collapsed. The stranger tossed the arms into the next stall and watched his victim convulse. The man's eyes were wide open but unseeing. He stared at the ceiling experiencing truly blinding pain. The stranger bent down and placed his hands on the man's chest. He grabbed the loose flesh and tore away large pieces of skin, then the muscle and finally he tore the man's ribcage open.

A beating heart bloodily presented itself; it was slowing down rapidly. Upon sight the stranger embraced the organ and tore it from the chest cavity. The man convulsed underneath the stranger as he inspected the heart. It was still beating faintly; he held it above his head and let some of the blood drip onto his tongue. He squeezed and crushed his prize. He had been fulfilled once again.

He tried to wash off some of the blood but it was everywhere, in his ragged long hair, all over his tattered clothes, it would be very hard to evade incarceration if someone were to see him exiting the restroom. He managed to slip out unnoticed, leaving bloody footprints for a few feet and then vanishing into the alleyways once again.

His cravings did not come back for a few hours, but when they did the stranger was offset. It angered him to know that he was going to have to take yet another easy life. He knew the next person he came into contact with would plead and cry just like all the rest. It made his blood boil, he needed another challenge but his cravings had superseded this goal. He just needed to get his hands on anyone.

With clenched fists the stranger marched through the alleyways. A drunken homeless man was bending over and puking into a garbage can. He heard the stomp of boots approaching him and turned around to see the stranger coming closer and closer.

"What the fuck you want?" He screamed. "Godfuckingdammit answer me you piece of shit! I'll tear you to pieces" I'll rip your eyes out!" The man drunkenly lunged at the stranger. He got a hold of his hair and tore out a large patch. He began punching, a fury of fists landing on the stranger's face. He did not defend himself, this unexpected aggression pleased a part of him. This man was ready to die fighting, a very rare occurrence to the stranger. He watched the man try to destroy him. His fists had broken open on the stranger's teeth, blood spattered all around. The stranger felt a few of his teeth loosen and begin to float around in his mouth. He decided the man had had his turn.

"I'll kill you!" He screamed as he wound up for what was hoped to be the end-all punch. As he swung the stranger ducked and maneuvered behind the man. He grabbed him by the back of his neck and pointed him towards a wall about ten feet away. He ran at the wall and with all his force smashed the man's face into it. He repeatedly drove the man's face into the wall until he had passed out.

As his unconscious body lay on the ground the stranger got on top of him and began punching. Blood continued to spatter the walls with each punch. He began hitting harder; he could feel the skull start to give out. Harder still, the man's face had started to cave in. He did not stop until there was no possibility of recognition, all that remained was skull fragments and the pulverized brain leaking through broken skin.


	4. An Apprentice

He wandered throughout the night; he wondered if he would get any fulfillment if he was to take a life with just one punch. It didn't seem feasible but another kill was again becoming apparently necessary.

It was three in the morning, the only people out were prostitutes and the men that needed to use their services. The stranger walked out of the alleyway and down the street. He saw a man in a business suit get out of his vehicle and approach a hooker. His hand gestures and uncomfortable behavior could have signified that this was the first time he had attempted to pay for sex. The stranger clenched his right fist and talked towards the two conversing. The man was facing towards the street, pointing at his minivan parked on the opposite side.

As the stranger passed by he threw a solid punch into the side of the man's head. He flew a good six feet and scraped his face off of the sidewalk. Blood immediately started to pool around the man's head.

"What the fuck did you do that for? The son of a bitch was gonna give me five hundred bucks for a blow job!" The prostitute screamed at him. He shot a look at her that immediately ceased her complaining. She turned around and ran as fast as she could in 6' stilettos.

He had never resorted to killing prostitutes. Somewhere in his mind he realized that the women that were forced to sell their bodies had more than likely just as screwed up of a life as he had had, and it had always been on of those personal rules the stranger would abide by. Although it wasn't necessarily a conscious decision he also concluded that he would receive little to no gratification if he were to go ahead and take one of their lives.

As he walked back down another allweyway he tried to decipher exactly what it was that would provide him with a continuous sense of fulfillment, but nothing crossed his mind. He had never felt as if he had a simpley recreational reason for doing what he did, he felt it a necessity for his survival. If there was not a strady flow of blood exerted by his hands he felt he would not be able to continue on with his own life.

As he walked he sensed another presence, he wandered cautiously, although the possibility of an attack was unlikely it was still very possible. A glass bottle could be heard moving and echoing through they alleyway. The stranger surveyed everything but could not see what his intuition was telling him was there. A few minutes of silence passed and the stranger continued slowly down the alleyway.

A tug on his tattered overcoat sent him into a racge. He spun around, hands like talons about to rip into whoever had approached him, but he stopped short. An immense confusion overcame him as he realized that is was a child, no older than seventeen.

"Before you kill me, I need to ask you something." The boy said. He stood in front of the stranger, unshaken, eyes full of confidence but also hinting at an immense pain. The stranger said nothing but reverted from his offensive stance. "I saw what you did to that drunk, I saw what you did to that suit, I know I should fear you, I know you could kill me on the spot, but I want to come with you."

The stranger could barely comprehend why this boy had approached him, let alone the fact that he was offering some sort of union.

"That drunk was my father, he was a no good piece of shit. He killed my mother four years ago and got away with it because he took to the streets and dragged me along with him. I was planning on killing him one of these days, but I never got around to it. I need to thank you for that. I'm finally free of that fuck."

There was a brief pause. The kid expected the stranger to acknowledge anything he had said, even a nod would have been sufficient, but the stranger just stood there. The child could not tell, but the stranger was in awe. Not even in his sickest dreams did he ever think someone would commend him for what he had done.

A thousand thoughts crossed through the strangers mind as he stared at the boy. They maintained eye contact throughout, neither of them had any intention of breaking the only connection either of them had had in a very long time. He thought of repercussions, he wondered if the boy was sincere in his approach, he expected the boy to attack him, and he waited for it.

This intense silence lasted a few minutes, the stranger could not find words for the boy. "Look, my life ain't worth living, so if you want to kill me go right ahead, I won't even fight you, just tear my throat out, because if I can't come with you I'm just going to go kill myself anyways." The boy's eyes were watering, it was a surprisingly emotional moment for him. He did not know whether or not he would be accepted, nor did he know whether or not the stranger was going to murder him on the spot. He just needed a reaction, any reaction from the stranger, even just to signify that his message had been understood.

The stranger decided to go out on a limb, he had never had a companion, he had never had a friend or a follower. It was a new experience that had briefly made him forget his immense cravings. He turned slowly and again began to walk down the alleyway. He could hear footsteps as the boy pursued him at a distance. For the rest of the night the boy followed the stranger, always at a distance, but always present.

He decided to test the boy. He wanted to know if he could truly handle witnessing the life that the stranger was leading. At six in the morning the stranger stopped walking. He came to the end of an alleyway and peered around the corner. There was a man going for a morning jog, running down the sidewalk. The stranger leaned up against the wall and signaled the boy to come over to him. The boy's face beamed as he was finally acknowledged by the stranger and he ran over and took place beside the stranger. The stranger pointed his thumb in the direction the jogger was coming from and the boy peered out to see. He confirmed what he saw, then the stranger pointed at the boy. He nodded and understood.

The footsteps grew closer, as the man passed the alley the stranger grabbed him by the throat and pulled him deep into the alleyway. He threw him to the ground and watched. The boy was on top of the man in a second, a knee firmly planted on the man's chest, the boy punched him a few times and reached into his back pocket. He drew his knife and was about to stab the man in the heart when the stranger grabbed his arm. The boy looked back with confusion, but then dropped the knife and continued to pummel the man. He punched him in the throat, poked his eyes and repeatedly kneed him in the chest. The man was still very much alive and resisting. He saw the boy through the blood running down his face and saw the stranger standing behind him monitoring the situation.

"What the fuck are you doing! Get the fuck off of me! Help! Help!" He cried. The boy persisted but could not finish the job with his bare hands. This disappointed the stranger, but he realized that he could teach this boy many things. He walked over and crouched beside the two, the jogger grabbed at the strangers leg and squeezed. "Call this little shit off!" He yelled. The stranger tapped the boy on the shoulder and he stopped hitting the man. The stranger looked at the boy and the boy looked back, waiting for his next instruction. Without looking, the stranger grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed. A gurgle and a pop and the man could breathe no longer. He began to convulse and the boy's eyes filled with elation as he witnessed a life dissipate directly underneath him.


End file.
